High Hopes
by EtherDoc
Summary: Sherlock and John have more in common than they think. What starts off as a sexual encounter turns quickly into a growing friendship until the ghosts of the past catch up with them both. AU meeting with John. Uni setting. **SMUT** Warning: drug use
1. Chapter 1

The music vibrated through entire body it was so loud. The people on the dance floor didn't seem to mind. They writhed and moved in the tight space where they were crammed. The whole club smelled of cigarettes and sweat. In the dim lighting came streaks of color from the neon glow rings and jewelry.

Sherlock leaned against the bar, sipping on his martini. It was his third of the evening and probably not his last. He was there for one purpose only. Once the deal was done he'd return to his dorm room and hopefully to oblivion. A woman with bleached blonde hair wriggled her way between him and the patron next to him. She ordered a shot of whiskey then turned to him, breasts pressing against his arm.

"Howdy stranger," she drawled, trying to keep her voice sexy as she spoke above the noise of the club.

Sherlock took in her augmented breasts, telling ring finger, and inexpensive purse. She was well above the average age of primarily Uni students. Sherlock smirked. He leaned in close to her ear.

"Does your husband know you go clubbing to pick up men?" he asked.

Her red smile disappeared and she took her drink and walked away with a nervous glance over her shoulder. Five minutes later Sherlock was approached by a young male. He slid in the same way the woman had. He didn't bother to order a drink. Sherlock didn't give him a chance to open his mouth.

"Security didn't even bother to check your identification card so I won't ask to see it. You shouldn't be ordering alcohol at any rate. Your inhibitions are low enough. Off you pop."

"That. Was. Amazing," said a voice besides him. It was the patron the boy had jostled aside to get to Sherlock. He was short but thick. Sherlock suspected from the way his biceps stretched his shirt that it was mostly muscle. He had sandy blonde hair like the desert.

"That isn't what most people say," Sherlock finally replied.

"What do they say then?" the man asked.

"Piss off," he replied. They both started laughing. It was a ridiculous situation. Sherlock was there for drugs and this man was here to drown himself in alcohol and a woman.

"John," he said, offering his hand.

"Sherlock," he replied, taking the hand.

They drank in silence.

"I take it that you're here to forget about your brother coming out of the closet," Sherlock said. John's eyes went wide with surprise.

"What else?" he asked Sherlock.

"And you've applied for medical school but aren't sure if you'll get in – or even if you want to."

"How did you know all that?"

"You really want to know?" Sherlock replied.

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

Sherlock studied John, as if debating how much to say. Then he went all in.

"This club is within walking distance to St. Bart's. There's the UKCAT exam tomorrow at 7:00 am. You should be back in your dorm studying and yet here you are. You're perfectly capable of passing given your intelligence so you aren't sure if you want to pursue the track to becoming a doctor. That you're pre-med is obvious by the test center confirmation in your breast pocket."

John's face was open with surprise.

"And, uh…the thing about my brother?"

"Just a guess. You're looking at the women in the club. You're also looking at the men. Something is on your mind. You obviously have a brother because he's given you that watch. It's much too expensive for a pre-med student. You obviously don't come from a family of wealth given your clothing and there's no love interest in your life or you wouldn't be here. Ergo brother."

John looked down at his watch then back up at Sherlock. He slowly took it off and handed it to him.

_To John, love Sebastian. _

"I do have a sister and she did just tell my parents she likes girls. The reason I'm checking out blokes is-"

"Because you're gay," Sherlock finished.

"Other than that you were correct and believe me, I'm still impressed."

"How impressed?" Sherlock asked, moving closer to John.

"Very."

Their mouths came together softly as first. Then Sherlock felt a rush of attraction. John's lips were sliding against his and his tongue came out to lick a hot streak against his mouth. They were oblivious to anything except each other and then the bartender was poking rudely at Sherlock's shoulder.

"You're knocking over your drinks. Take it elsewhere boys," he said.

Giggling and dragging each other through the thick crowd then finally made it to the back door. There was a rush of cold air as the door opened and then they were in a back alley. Sherlock dropped to his knees and John was grinning as he pulled open his flies.

Sherlock lapped up the pre-cum already leaking from the head, then licked John from base to the top in a long wet stripe. When John was slick and wet he tipped back his head and took the entire shaft into his mouth. John was already groaning above him, pressing his back into the brick wall so he wouldn't slide to his knees. His hands were in Sherlock's hair as he moved his head over the warm cock in his mouth.

John's knees were trembling. Sherlock moved one hand up and gave a few twists as he sucked the head. John gave a shout and he was coming into Sherlock's waiting mouth. Sherlock wiped at his lips with one sleeve of his shirt then moved up to kiss John again, offering him a taste of himself.

"Take the UKCAT tomorrow. You'll do fine."

"What… was that what this was about?" John asked, confused.

"It's good to relieve a little tension but it's time to go. Go home John," Sherlock said and walked back inside, leaving John to zip back up and find his way back to his dorm room.

After a while someone else approached Sherlock for an entirely different reason. Money exchanged hands and Sherlock left with a small bag of white powder.


	2. Chapter 2

John was sitting on a bench with a sandwich when Mike joined him with his cup of coffee.

"Alright then?" he asked, sitting down besides him.

"I think so," John replied.

The day was cold and overcast and looked like rain. They sat in each others company in silence. It was one of the reasons John liked Mike. Mike didn't care that the world valued the boisterous alpha male. Mike could simply enjoy the company of another man. He didn't feel threatened by the fact that John was gay either.

"How was the exam?" Mike asked after awhile.

"I did okay. Well enough to pass. Not sure about medical school."

Mike knew what he meant. He didn't have the money.

"There's always the military," Mike suggested.

"I thought about it. It's not like I'd be missed. My family is three shades of fucked up."

Mike didn't disagree. There was another ten minutes of silence before Mike left him sitting there. John was deep in thought when a deep baritone voice interrupted.

"You did better than you think. Just like I knew you would," it said. John knew who it was before he looked up. John hated being taken by surprise. What he hated even more was the pompous way this minted brat was talking to him. John had to be at least five years his senior. He didn't know what game Sherlock was playing but he wanted it to stop.

"Back for a second round? I would think you got enough of me last night. Did you want a fuck too?" he said in a bored voice.

It was crude and intentionally worded to throw Sherlock off. Something flashed in those blue eyes then was gone.

"Hardly." Sherlock leaned over, one arm on either side of John's shoulders.

"I like my soldiers a little taller," he said.

"How the feck did you know that? I just told Mike a few minutes ago and I know you haven't talked to him."

Sherlock smirked.

"It's the logical next step for you. Your family isn't paying your tuition. You've barely been scraping by on your own. Your clothing is all second hand. You snuck in the club by the back door last night and nursed the same drink the entire time you were there."

Sherlock was still bent over, his lips so close John could taste them. John's tongue darted out to lick his lips and Sherlock's eyes followed it. He gave John a predatory smile. John felt himself growing hard under the steely gaze and Sherlock's smile widened. John wasn't sure who leaned in first but suddenly they were kissing and Sherlock's hands were on his shoulders instead of next to them. There was a chemistry, John had to admit. Sherlock put a fire in his veins that wasn't going to get put out by snogging. John reluctantly pulled away. Sherlock's eyes were hooded and his cheeks were flushed. Sherlock wasn't as immune to this mutual attraction as he might like John to believe.

"My place. Now," John said and Sherlock's blush widened across his face. "I've surprised you. I take it that's a rare thing."

"You have no idea. I didn't expect you to be so... aggressive."

John was still seated. If he wasn't Sherlock would be over a head taller than he was. None of that mattered because John was in complete control of the situation and they both knew it. Sherlock might have been the one leading in the club but John had only been letting him. Sherlock might be able to read people by their shoes and trousers or whatever. Well, John could read Sherlock like a book. What Sherlock needed, what he was looking for, was a distraction. From what John didn't know. He didn't even care. He wanted Sherlock on his knees again or better yet all fours.

His thoughts much have been written all over his face. Sherlock's breathing had gotten heavier and there was a noticeable bulge in those impossibly tight trousers. John pushed Sherlock's hands away and stood up. He walked away and Sherlock followed close behind him. They reached his dorm room and Jim was thankfully out. John hung his watch on the door knob and pushed at Sherlock's back until he was in the room. The door locked with a gentle click. Sherlock looked around, suddenly uncertain.

"Undress," John suggested. It sounded like an order and Sherlock bit his lip as he started unbuttoning his shirt. John nodded to his trousers and Sherlock undid the flies.

"Everything," John said as Sherlock paused at his underpants. Sherlock stood there, pale flesh goose pimpling in the chilly air. As a rule he and Jim didn't leave the heat on if they would be out all day and it was as cold in the dorm as it was outside. John let his eyes travel down that wiry frame. Even in the chill air Sherlock was erect. He was uncircumcised but his glans was already starting to retract to show the head beneath.

John moved towards Sherlock and reached up to pull down his head. Those lush curls were beneath his hands. Those chiseled lips were parted, ready for his tongue. Every inch of that glorious body was ready to submit. Who'd have thought a man with such a glorious mind could be so passive.

"Down on your knees," John said. Sherlock complied without question and John walked around him in a slow circle finally stopping behind him. He pushed until Sherlock was on his hands and knees.

"Oh yes, just like that," John said softly.

Sherlock's legs were trembling slightly. John reached under his bed to pull out some lube. He slicked up his fingers then ran them up and down between those pale ass cheeks. He let his fingers slide along the perineum, lightly tracing patterns over the hole until Sherlock's hips were bucking against his fingers, searching for more contact. Sherlock's legs were trembling slightly.

"Please John!" he gasped.

There it was - what John had been waiting for. He slipped one fingers inside and it went in easily. He carefully moved it in and out until he felt Sherlock widen, then he slipped in two more. He didn't have to move after that, Sherlock was already fucking himself against John's hand. John drew them out and Sherlock gave a whimper.

"What do you want Sherlock?" he asked.

Sherlock just shook his head and John gave his ass a hard smack. Sherlock yelped.

"I asked you a question."

"You John. I want you."

John stood up and stripped out of his clothes. He knelt down again and slid his cock back and forth over Sherlock's spread cheeks. Sherlock was beyond ready. He turned his head back to look at John and it was written all over his face. John had complete control and Sherlock was completely at his mercy. John lined his cock up and entered slowly. Sherlock gave a shout of pleasure. His head was tilted back and his eyes were tightly shut. John fucked him very slowly and very deliberately. It still didn't take very long before Sherlock was coming, sobbing into one of his arms. John let himself speed up, finding the rhythm he liked best. Sherlock was so tight around him, like he'd never been fucked before. It felt amazing until the cold truth of it washed over John.

"Sherlock have you ever done this before?" he asked.

"That hardly seems relevant now," Sherlock replied.

That was a yes then. Jesus. It wasn't unheard of. Some men didn't like anal. They preferred oral or manual stimulation. Still...

"Why now?" John asked quietly.

"Because I wanted to," Sherlock said simply. Fair enough. John moved a little move carefully, keeping enough motion to get himself off with the least amount of penetration.

"Don't do that," Sherlock snapped.

"What?"

"Finish what you started, doctor," Sherlock said. John saw Sherlock was still half hard. Those eyes were no longer pleading, they were demanding. John grimaced but he pushed in balls deep. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"The doctor has found your prostate," he said. He pushed in again and Sherlock moaned. Soon Sherlock was pushing back against him, meeting each thrust. John came with a shout, his hands clenching at Sherlock's waist. He kept pushing himself deeper into Sherlock as he wrapped one hand around and yanked Sherlock's length. He gave one last stroke and Sherlock was coming into John's fist.

John pulled himself out and Sherlock quickly dressed without bothering to wash up.

"I have somewhere to be," he explained. He was out the door before John had time to dress.


	3. Chapter 3

John waited three days and when he still hadn't heard from Sherlock he started asking around. Most people gave him strange looks and shrugged their shoulders. The bloke didn't seem to have any connections around the campus. Surprisingly the only one who seemed to know anything at all about him was Mike.

"He comes and goes. He'll turn up," Mike said.

"How do you even know each other?" John asked.

"We've had a few courses together. He's a sodding genius at chemistry. Rubbish at physics. I didn't know you two were friends," he said.

When John remained silent Mike started to grin.

"It's like that, is it?" he said.

"I barely know him," John replied.

"Yeah, then why do you care what he's up to? I'm sure you noticed the track marks on his arm. My guess is he's busy shooting up somewhere. He gets these dark spells, disappears down some rabbit hole, and pops out the other side like nothing's happened. He'll turn up. He always does."

John asked around again. This time he asked different people. They wore sunglasses and smoked cigarettes one after the other, hanging out behind dorms or by the bleachers in the field. They eyed his baggy jumper and sandy blonde hair and deemed him non-threatening. No one drew a switchblade and John didn't have to show them the gun he kept hidden in his dorm room.

John knew what he looked like. The slightly baggy jumper he favored made him look more pudgy than brawny and that's how he liked it. If there was going to be trouble he wanted to be looking for it. He didn't need it finding him. Money changed hands and he was given an address. It was too far to walk so he dug around under his bed and pulled out his meager savings. He took enough for cab fare and set out.

The house was a really more of a shack with busted up doors and boards on the windows. The people inside didn't look much better. The rooms were filled with bodies, some wide-eyed and others passed out on the dirty floors. They smelled like piss and god knew what else. The whole place was so rank it made his eyes water.

Finally he found him, a crumpled figure in the furthest corner of the house.

"Sherlock?" John said softly. The body unfolded enough for Sherlock to eye him with a look that was at first searching then completely dismissive.

"John, come to collect your fuck buddy?"

Sherlock's eyes were moving, searching for something over John's shoulder. He wasn't waiting for an answer. He wasn't even present. The piercing gaze had been replaced by a drug induced haze. It made John's heart sit heavy in his stomach.

"I have a cab waiting outside," he finally said.

"Then you'd better take it," Sherlock said, rolling away. "Your interference is unwanted and not required. Kindly go."

Only Sherlock could manage to sound so posh under such a deplorable situation. John looked at the stained shirt and the filthy trousers. Sherlock's hair was sticking up oddly to one side and there was a deep purple bruise beneath one eye.

"I don't need your pity," Sherlock spat, turning his head back to John. "I know what I'm doing."

John fought down the urge to simply get up and walk away. He'd already been through this with Harry. Her drinking had started long before he'd been old enough to understand what she was doing to herself. And she was still doing it. He didn't need a repeat of that failure.

John's fears settled back down and he pushed them aside for later. This wasn't about Harry. This was about the stupid git in front of him. And god help him, John suspected he was the reason Sherlock was here.

"Know what you're doing? You mean killing yourself little by little? You're doing a good job of it. Congratulations."

"This isn't about addiction, I am in complete control. I need to clear out my head sometimes. It gets to full, the data becomes overwhelming until it's all I can think about. There no other way. This is a means to an end. "

"All I see and hear is someone looking for an easy escape. Well you aren't going to find it here. Come on," John said, pulling at both his arms. Sherlock stood up, looking slightly dazed. For all his words he was completely compliant.

"Why are you here John?" Sherlock asked as John wrapped one arm around his waist and carefully walked back out the door to the waiting taxi.

"I came looking for you," John replied.

"Yes but why?"

John didn't answer because he didn't know.


	4. Chapter 4

John stuffed the lanky loose figure into the cab and slammed the door shut behind him, angry at Sherock, angry at himself. Here he was doing the very thing he swore not to do, that he'd already done for his sister. Sherlock was just as ungrateful as she was. At least he didn't have to hide Sherlock's condition from his parents.

"You love playing the hero, don't you John?" Harry had taunted. "Does it make you feel like a man?"

John shook his head to clear away the voice and went around to dump himself opposite Sherlock. Sherlock pointedly ignored him, his head turned to look outside the glass as they drove. Suddenly he stiffened, his hand dropping from his chin as he turned to glare at John.

"Just where do you think you're taking me?" Sherlock snarled. John felt his pulse quicken as his body went on the alert.

"You mean where are _we _going. I'm not taking you anywhere," John said.

Sherlock slumped against his seat, arms folded across his chest. The pout of those chiseled lips made him look like a petulant child. John felt himself relaxing again. Wherever they were going Sherlock knew and he wasn't afraid. With his gun tucked into the back of his jeans John wasn't either.

The quaint dirt road they had driven down the last fifteen minutes had turned into a private driveway. The car let them out at a well-kempt large manor. The rose bushes were in bloom and their vibrant colors brightened the cold stone walls behind them. A large fountain sat in the roundabout, empty except for the falling leaves that had gathered at its floor.

"I knew you were minted but this is slightly ridiculous," John said.

"Let's get this over with," Sherlock sighed.

John followed him over the threshold and into a sitting room done completely in white. Curtains swept across the windows, sheer enough to let in the sunlight from outside. John lowered himself onto a plush overstuffed chair to wait.

"Your…uh, parents live here?" John ventured.

"No," Sherlock replied. He had found the sofa and was draped across it like some renaissance painting.

A small man came bustling in. He gave a wave of his hand, indicating for John to follow. Sherlock had one arm draped over his eyes, the drama queen. John shrugged and followed where he was led. This room was equally ornate as the sitting room. A tray of fruits and cheeses was waiting on a small table next to a pitcher of water.

"John Watson," a voice said.

John nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been sure he was alone. The open door closed with a careful click. And the man turned towards him. Those silver eyes flicked up and down his body.

"The penalty for carrying an unlicensed firearm is severe. It's a habit that's discouraged," he said. "Have a seat John."

John stood with his arms folded across his chest. It was bad enough there was one of them. Apparently they were multiplying.

"Older brother?" John guessed. The man gave a start and his silver eyes flashed to John's face once more, considering.

"What is your connection to Sherlock?" he asked.

"We're at uni together. I really don't have one. I barely know him,' John replied.

"Yet you went to great lengths to find him."

John decided he was hungry after all. He helped himself to a small bunch of red grapes and a glass of water. He put his shoes up on the small table in front of the couch and the man in front of him looked horrified. John popped a grape into his mouth.

"I don't think that's any of your business," John said.

"It could be. I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you. Look he's just a bloke I happened to meet at a club. Who are you to him?" John asked.

"A concerned party. John, let's not be enemies," the tone implied they might be if John were to disagree with whatever request he was about to make. "I need someone to watch over Sherlock and report back to me. I know you are far from wealthy. A meaningful sum of money on a regular basis could ease your way."

John knew what was coming next but he had to ask.

"Money in exchange for what exactly?"

"Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel…uncomfortable with," John felt his cheeks burn under that knowing gaze. "Just tell me what he's doing when he's not with you."

"If he isn't with me how am I supposed to know what he's doing? We barely see each other. I don't even know who you are," John snapped.

"Mycroft Holmes. You surmised correctly. I am his older brother. As far as the other matter, you can probably think of creative ways to ensure he stays in your company. I would prefer you not tell him I said that. He doesn't appreciate my interference," he said.

"Well neither do I. You can take your offer and shove it up your-"

"There's no need to be crude," Mycroft interrupted.

"So the answer is no, of course. Can we go now? I have term papers to write, exams to study for. A life outside this house. Next time write me a letter or something."

"You're a very loyal… friend," Mycroft said.

"No I'm not. I'm just not interested."

There was a silence that stretched out until it was awkward and John had to clear his throat.

"Trust issues," Mycroft finally said.

"Excuse me?" John said, unnerved.

"The fact that you carry an unregistered Browning with you everywhere you go indicates trust issues, stemming from a chaotic home life and absent father. You carry yourself with a confidence only found in a boy that's forced into manhood at a young age. How old were you when he left? 7? 8? Ah, 9 years old. Your sister took up drinking to cope with it, you took his gun. He was ex-military then. And now you plan to follow in his footsteps. I hope you know what you're doing_, doctor_."

John was so angry his hands were shaking. He carefully put the plate back on the table with his cup and opened the door to the room. He walked through without looking back. As soon as Sherlock saw him he grimaced.

"A word, Sherlock," Mycroft called.

"Not today, brother mine," Sherlock snarled.

"You aren't going to lose your playmate. A word," Mycroft said firmly.

Sherlock turned to John. His eyes had cleared from their drug induced haze and all John could see was how miserable Sherlock was. He looked so lost and John had the feeling he wasn't going to find any compassion with Mycroft.

"Hey, I'll stay," he said softly. "He feels responsible for what you're doing to yourself. Let him say whatever he needs to say. Trust me. I've been in his shoes. Let him say what he needs to say. Then we can go."

Sherlock nodded slowly, resigned. John sat back down on the white couch to wait. Ten minutes later they were in a tax again. Then John was waving good bye as Sherlock walked away without a thank you.


End file.
